An Unfortunate Slight
by unearthlychild70
Summary: Short story and completed in four parts..Story has been renamed in order to include all four parts under one single title...SS and OFC. This story is very dark and contains multiple deaths, lust, and several other sins I could name.
1. Chapter 1

I hope you enjoy this "story"...It came to me yesterday morning on my way to work..The plot belongs to me but alas I have borrowed the Potion's Master from J.K. and hope she won't mind as long as I give him back un-harmed..It would really make my day if you would leave a few words and let me know what you think..Thanks so much...

Serena

Watching. That was how he had spent every moment of his life for the last six years, just watching and the entire time knowing how her brave new world would end. As certain of the moon rising that night and following the light of day with the sun riding high across the sky, he had known and knew what he would have to do. He was a man on fire and only murder would sate his desire. To many thoughts, each echoing her name had plagued his soul, thoughts beaten to the surface, forced out by to many nights spent in the embrace of sweet salvation, Absinth. Much like Prometheus he had been bound, set on his course with unwavering devotion. Her death would fall on his hands, he was sure, as was he certain the end would in this case more than justify the deed.

It would seem it had always been his birthright, his allotment in life to be a watcher. A true observer of human nature; keenly aware to the flaws that only she can bear. How beauty and such seeming innocence can be twisted and transformed, turned into a weapon capable of such devastation. It was like the world had become a moth and she, the only light still shinning, left for them to seek. Through no effort of her own she simply just _was_ the center of the world when she chose to let it in. A pretty girl though unremarkable when compared to some of her peers, she eluded to something deeper, some small piece of herself that she had saved all the years, knowing one day she would give them to you. It was not so much the knowledge you gained, that was unimportant, its significance resided in that it had been given and given to you. Such small little pieces doled out to admirers, followers of the light, alone they were nothing but placed one on the other drew a carefully crafted portrait of a force that clearly should not be unleashed upon the world. The hallowed halls had fallen the very day of her arrival; they had not even survived the sorting.

Within the first few weeks her minions had multiplied, she was the witty little Ravenclaw and despite their house affiliation, fledglings sought out her company and practically preened once they considered themselves to be in her graces. A series of contradictions seemed to be her makings, each carefully though slightly only connected to the other. If it had only been his desire, his need to become her world then possibly he would have let her live. Her fate would have rested with the Gods and he would have been resolute to accept their final judgment. But this, this little Ravenclaw that made the world love her, that made them all have to adore her, was beyond what the world knew to create and then control. Alone his single devotion was nothing, but much like the layers within her, when combined became a volatile storm of strength and vulnerability. In true form he had seen her give away her time, a smile, a nod of the head, brief moments in her life awarded to those who deserved her penitence and had silently prayed to be one of the chosen.

Pleasant. She had always been that way where he was concerned. Appropriate yes Sir's and no Sir's in all the right places. Not one to look away from her task, always aware that she was the best and seemingly daring anyone to question the self appointed title by making you love her even more. The more she didn't give, made your love for her all the greater. It was an addiction, the familiar sting of bliss into the vein made you forget why you loved but knew you had to have her and not just have her, but save her.

A myriad of emotions, each played across her features, unable to hide the thundering thoughts running rampant with in her own mind. All sense of freedom gone, bound to her madness as he was to his destiny. In a crisis he would choose her above even fully-grown wizards twice her age, she was a mountain of strength not likely to fall to adversity. Though really she was clever enough to never find herself in any situation she could not reason her way out of, as previous infractions of policy had been ignored by even him self. Nor was she ever above using her obvious physical traits to her advantage, as he had seen more times than he cared to stomach. The casually placed hand across someone's arm while leaning in as they spoke, seemingly enthralled at their very presence had soothed many beast's over the years. She was always clever and calculated in her attack, precision being her constant companion, careful and never approaching until clearly sited and then slowly allowing her self to be invited into your world. Or so it seemed. The reality was actually quite the contrary. You only thought her to be a passing breeze, enjoyed during the rush of wind but then quickly forsaken, but nothing was more from the truth. She was very much in fact an addiction and it was one he shared with the world.

He could not imagine what she could accomplish, what she would become and the power she could hold once she finally left his sight and was released upon the world. The uncanny ability to rise to the top, to triumph over any occasion made her a very dangerous little girl who had grown up into a potentially life altering mistake for them all. And that was just what she had become, a mistake he could not let live, any more than he could live with his own devotion. It was that simple really, summed up in its entirety by one sentence. _It was all sex and death from what he could tell_. He would never have her; she would never be his and only his to covet. Just as she did now she would forever belong to the minions, those idiots, fooled into loving her to excess and never for one minute receiving the adoration in return?

It had taken every moment over the last six years, observing every small detail of her being. Each move she made from the moment she entered the school had transpired in only the space between his robes and the shadows. Her life had played out, each facet exposed, stripped then burned into his mind's eye. There was nothing in her make-up that he did not know, not a thought she had he could not anticipate, and the slightest inflection of her voice could be heard over the distance of his classroom. Her features could be recalled with exacting detail, altering her moods at will, reveling in his resulting need and constant hunger of wanting more. This devotion, his miss placed loyalty would eventually become her down fall and make the way to her ruin utterly painless at his hand.

He had not flinched when handing her the book, his face schooled over the years to give away nothing. Never let them know what you're thinking and they will never know how to destroy you. If you give them nothing, they have nothing to use against you. Smiling, dipping her eyes to the floor, clearly enunciating her thank-you she had brushed her finger across his. Even then his resolve did not falter, replying only with a nod and dismissing her from the room. With the click of the door he knew she would not live through the night, again too much time spent in silent worship would be her final undoing. An endearing little trait, observed hundred's, possibly even thousands of times over the years would end his torment and return him to what he knew life to be before she became his world. The little Ravenclaw always and he did mean always casually manage to run her finger across her lips, slowly tracing the defined edges whenever she found her self absorbed in her reading, stopping only long enough to turn the page only then to begin again. He had berated his soul, cursed his carnal thoughts as visions of this one act played over and over, forever racing through his mind. The most subtle of her actions, one perhaps she was not even aware of, would finally end his damnation. Not even a release from Azkaban would be as sweet and well deserved. Sweet Belladonna had delivered him, presented him before the Gods and kissed his lips with the click of a door.

It would be painless, he had seen to that. She was after all to beautiful to die an ugly death, he wanted to preserve her, give her minions their time to grieve and decide that they could in fact out live her death. Placed lovingly and with only the precision a Master brings to any task, tiny drops of deliverance on the edge of every page in the book given to her. Given out of love, out of desperation, out of simple self -preservation. Softly her eyes would begin to flutter and sleep would claim her within its soothing arms. Silently she would slip without so much as a whimper out of his world and he would no longer be bound to anything but her memory. It was a price he would be willing to pay. He had saved them all, despite tomorrow and the sorrow it would bring. He had freed them all and one day they would love him for it.

I thank you for reading and would love to see your comments..


	2. Chapter 2

I finally received a review and my, did it make me blush. Thanks to NativeMoon I have decided to post the next chapter to a complete work in four parts. Again these stories popped into my mind and would not release me until they were finally put to paper. If you enjoy please take the time and leave me a few words. I can promise they really make all the difference in the world. Lastly I would like to point I'm still not J.K. but I really enjoy playing with her toys.

An Unfortunate Slight

Part II

Moments

It was a moment of frustration that caused him to snap, and loose all remaining contact with this world. Not one thing, nothing in fact that could be specifically altered to change the consequences that were sure to come. As certain of his place, that he did in fact exist he knew she would fall and her end would happen at his hands. If only her devote worship had remained hidden, left waiting and watching with in her own room he might have never even noticed the girl. She could have possibly gone overlooked as just another Hufflepuff he would be forced to berate through Potions and watch cry from his obvious signs of displeasure. Nothing special would have driven his eyes to follow her or instinctively locate her the moment he entered any room. Such details of her being would have never been seen, categorized, and later recalled with such loathing, such actual desire to damn her very soul and prove her faith unworthy of such a beautiful follower of the light.

As difficult as it was from him to believe he could not remember her sorting, or anything at all about her first year. It was as though she had not existed until one small action, so ingrained into what she was called his name and without the ability to turn away, his eyes fell on the small golden cross resting, seemingly suspended just below her throat. He had followed her, unable to stop his traitorous mind from willing his body, until suddenly stopping just behind the swirl of her robes, afraid for the briefest of moments he had been noticed. Outside the castle, the Gods were warring, and the Earth Mother was paying the price of being the most loved. Rain was pounding in sheets against the glass, and her face had turned instinctively into the sound. With great hesitation she had reached towards the pane, almost making contact when the onslaught outside heaved another volley of electric fire. Light had flashed across her face mirroring the dark outside lit beneath the raging elements. Instinct had taken over and without a moment's thought her hand flew from the glass, as if its touch had seared her skin, only to clench her fingers and call to her God. Her hand flew from her face, paused between her breasts, crossed from one shoulder to the next until finally her ritual had been completed. She had summoned her God, called his name to the Heavens with this one act of contrition and now she stood before him believing in salvation. _Could it have been possible she thought not to outlive the war waging against the outside world._ She had stood for several moments as he visually devoured the movement of her lips; softly, slowly speaking the sort of words any deity would love to hear. Promises at redemption, at salvation, of a lifetime spent in deepest devotion, if only she could outlive this night and her fear. It had been the moment her lips ceased to move, their silent prayers carried away against the dark when her God chose to answer her plea. The darkness screamed against the intrusion as light again flashed across the night illuminating the corridor in which they both stood. Clearly he had seen them, and had known for certain then that the faithful little Hufflepuff would have to die. Outlined against the shadows the impression of angelic wings framed her form, her head dropped towards the floor, offering nothing short of penitence at the gift. Perhaps the young girl had indeed sensed him, and not only did she fear the storms, but had also prayed for salvation from him. Her God had indeed answered his most faithful, and had answered her prayers in a way she could never understand, forever sealing her fate to his own.

It had shocked him the first time he had seen her after their evening in the corridor. She had entered the Great Hall, quite clearly he had seen the mark of her God; around her the halo of wings encircled her shape. Shocked that no one seemed to remark or startle he became aware that only he could see her for what she really was. Only _he _would know her innocence, her perfection, her faith and belief in eventual salvation, and only _he_ would know the final moment of her life.

She had always been a tragic little beauty, forever doomed by her faith and belief to see good where none actually existed. He had watched her time after time give away her words; her gestures of concern meant to surround and comfort a wounded soul. It had revolted him to watch as his little Hufflepuff grew and began leaving the grounds to the sound of bells chiming against the Sunday dawn. She had turned her back against her own kind, to seek refuge in a faith that had no place in the World she now called home. There was only good and there was only bad, and each was merely tainted with varying degrees of magic. What he knew to be certain was all he would have ever needed to know. He believed in certainties, bound to this life that was nothing but sex and death, there was no room for such perfection. The Gods should have been as jealous, and taken offense to such a creation. Instead they seemed to love her, covet her above all others and lovingly worship at the foot of their newfound brethren.

He was certain however that she would be forsaken, that in the end her God would not be by her side as she left the mortal world; she would be forgotten and would suffer her end with only himself as her companion. With careful and exacting precision he had managed to maneuver her to his advanced classes, ensuring he would have the opportunity to spend several nights a week completely alone in her company. How quiet she had been, only opening her mouth when prompted and so obviously driven by her faith. Still her wings followed her every move, casting a faint silhouette around her shadow. It had been shear amazement at her poise, how dutifully and respectfully she wore her angelic armour that had willed his fingertips towards her face. An errant silken curl had called to him; it had lain nestled against her cheek, falling across her vision as she read. He had not expected her eyes to immediately meet his own as he brushed the offending hair from her view. Inside them he saw her soul, he saw her need to find the good inside of him, to save him from even himself. However she would learn, this young girl who played far beyond her experience, would learn. There was _no_ salvation for him, and the little Hufflepuff's sacrifice would just be another sin to bear.

Rain had pounded against his back as he had carefully carried her sleeping form across the forest floor. It had taken a great deal of planning; exact calculations and subtle caution had been his constant mentor as he maneuvered her silent silhouette from the safety of her tower. How fitting that it had stormed, perhaps her God had indeed begun to mourn her eminent passing, sending bitter torrents to rage against the night and those that live in its shadow. With great loving tenderness he had draped her form over the wooden cross, binding her hands and feet into place. Still she had not stirred, not one word had spilled across her lips as he had seen it fitting she not suffer the end of her days. Without pausing, he had stepped away from her now bound form, pulled his wand and sent a blaze of light in her direction. Before him he had watched the cross lift from the moss covered Earth and stand alone, her form now impaled beneath his magic. Instantly her body convulsed at the intrusion but still she had not spoken, not even a plea for her life was ever heard. Silently and with great reverence he had fallen to his knees, offering his life for her own, if only her God would smite him where he knelt. But nothing other than the sound of warring elements could be heard as he bargained with her God, and still no one came to save the little Hufflepuff. No one had come to tell him _no_ when he lit the ring of fire beneath the erect cross, creating a barrier between themselves and the rest of the world. No one had stood underneath her form, crying and cursing his madness other than himself and his own demons. Quite the contrary her death had been an intensely private affair, much in the same way her life had been lived. His faith in _nothing_ had been proven with her last breath; her God had not appeared and released her from her suffering. Instead beneath her dying stillness, he had reached towards the Heavens to touch the face of a fallen angel; with chaffed and bitter hands he had cradled her features. After careful consideration he had leaned in, brushing her lips in the softest of gestures only to whisper against the silent tomb. Fire instantly flashed across the sky, reflecting against his face as he apparated away into the darkness. Only the night and her minions would ever hear, would ever know he had gently kissed her cold lips and claimed her death by calling his name aloud. Against the black, only one word remained to echo within the silence……._Judas_.


	3. Chapter 3

Before we begin please remember that I am not J.K. and never will be. I'm still broke and living somewhere this side of Hell. I can assure you I have nothing you would want. Having said all this here is the third piece in a complete series of four. And as always thank you NativeMoon for your encouraging words.

**An Unfortunate Slight**

Part III

Madness

It has been the madness of March that first drew his gaze, and sealed her fate beyond what she would ever understand. It could have been quite simply stated that from that moment forward the cunning little Slytherin had not walked the hallowed halls without his eyes upon her. So slight her reference had been that day, as if her revelation were merely factual, as if tracing her lineage to the most noble and ancient house of Caesar were inconsequential. It had been her typical casual indifference that had so infuriated him, taunting him for his tainted blood and lack of social standing. What she could not have known and in fact would never know would have astounded her; the knowledge that from that day on each moment she lived had been at the very mercy of man bound to his own demons and personal sense of vindication.

The moment she had been sorted she fell beneath his watchful wings, first as a new fledging to honor the House of Slytherin and then much later, when she fell from grace and brought her house down around her. Never an awkward child as so many are when they first enter the school, this little girl who had hidden behind a veil of white silken downy that fell well below her shoulders carried herself like the very pure-blood she knew she was. It had been evident this little princess had spent her life only knowing the beautiful moments the world had to offer up, never once embracing the darkness and the minions she called her own.

It retrospect it had been nothing really, nothing that should have doomed her to fall under his harsh gaze, nothing that should have caused her life to eventually end. Her perfect little life where the world catered to her every whim, where the seasons changed just to suit her moods, and the sky that had always rained sunshine against her face had only enraged him further. Her absolute inability to understand, to even comprehend the world and what she does to those she does not favor were as alien as the back drop of stars across the universe. She was shallow, self-centered, and intolerant to any signs of imperfection, and he was _far _from any shade that even remotely resembled perfection.

Had she thought he had not noticed the way her eyes lingered for a moment longer than what was considered socially acceptable to the scars that covered the tops of his hands. Could she have possibly been so ignorant to presume that a creature that could bear such scars would feel nothing, would be incapable of human emotions? How could she not respect his hours of toil beneath layers, suffering even against the heat; hiding fresh wounds until they turned into nothing more than little white shadows? Had it really been possible the earth mother could produce a life so unable to understand anything other than what they knew, to never be able to see life for what it really was, to never know the suffering of others and _simply_ feel kindred? _No_, she would not know nor would she ever even care that the demons called to him his every waking moment; that they spoke softly, whispering against his ear calling for blade to meet flesh; that each moment he lived was in a permanent state of warfare, each conflict escalating beyond its predecessor. Planning, calculating each movement, each action, even the inflection of his tone, these were but a handful of thoughts running through his mind each and every second he took breath. There was never a release, never a moment of peace to enjoy even the smallest of pittance offered down from the heavens.

Perhaps it had been deserved after all; this little princess had in fact fallen, even if the rest of world had taken no notice. Slight indiscretions, whispered across the common room always had a way of tickling against his ear, not that she had really even attempted to hide what she had become. The perfect little pure-blood thought herself above the common man, and had not considered her various nightly liaisons appeared as anything other than the foundation of future alliances. After all, all good little Slytherin girls wanted to grow up to be just one thing; and that was simply the wife of a well-connected, influential pure-blooded wizard. However much to her chagrin and his sense of justice it would seem fate had dictated something entirely different for the mediocrity he had thought her life to be.

Where she was concerned he had lost all control, and loosing control meant loosing advantage. Loosing advantage meant you've lost the battle; loose enough battles and you've just lost the war. That particular realization sealed her fate as easily as pressing wax and seal to paper, and thus began her final days. This _one_ he wanted to see suffer, cry atonements for each and every sin she had ever committed against her proper breading and perpetual place in society. Her very death would vindicate his suffering, offering the promise of eventual peace and resolution. It simply could not have been avoided, not that it had mattered terribly to him at all.

It had not been a beautiful moment; nothing in the darkness of cold dungeon walls could ever be called beautiful. For hours he had watched her, bewitched as she bartered for her life offering her body to any disgusting pleasure he desired. How foolish she had been, even then she did not realize the folly in her ways. Each sin that poured like silk against his soul only spiraled him further into his madness, ensuring her agony would last long into the night. Not one particular confession forced him to place blade against her downy limbs, to methodically slice away lines forever tainting her pure façade. Her tears had not stopped him, as he slowly and with as much circumstance as he could manage he slid his dagger deep inside her chest, ending only when the blade would bury no further. For the briefest of blinks in time her face eased, eyes full of realization at the significance in her little death. The little princess had indeed bleed; she had stared into the eyes of the very man who took her life and stole all her dreams. In the end she had not deserved the sweet kiss that death brought to her lips.

For the briefest of moments, when he realized she knew, that she knew he was her Brutus he had paused, ever so slightly. Finally knowing she understood he had betrayed her and would do so again if called upon, seeing his loyalty was something she had lost, tossed away and could now not reclaim. For that one moment when he knew, when he was acutely aware she understood her lesson that _his_ loyalty was something she no longer deserved _he_ had flinched. But that moment passed and another quickly followed suit, one that lingered in madness balancing on the very edge of Occam's razor


	4. Chapter 4

And finally the last chapter in this series and I hope you enjoy. Again I would like to point out I'm still not J.K. and only dream inside her world. If you have enjoyed this story please let me know and leave a few words behind.

An Unfortunate Slight 

**Part IV**

Perception 

It had become painfully obvious that he had completely misjudged and miscalculated the entire situation before him. What it had actually encompassed was the simple matter of fact way that pure perception was merely each player's own determination of the existing facts; and it would seem that in this particular instance he had certainly been out maneuvered and his final day would find him lying across the bloodied battlefield of his own mind, with-out any remorse and shamelessly defeated. Against better judgment, he had let her in. She had been uninvited and yet he would eventually covet her love and attention; would cleave to her as he took his final breath and love her all the more for his eventual release.

_Greatly intriguing_ had been her initial reaction to his harsh features and sour demeanor but like everything that ages with time her perception had altered. No longer was he those things he was those things for all sorts of reasons, for all sorts of sins he could never speak allowed to anyone except those few he chose as his confessor. This sandalwood scented Master of potions and magic, whose voice echoed within her own mind until she thought she might scream, lacked the one thing that every mortal being needed. This man of magic had no faith, and for this lack of faith he took life. For one shinning moment he become the creator, the bringer of life, the last hope of salvation until finally pronouncing his final judgment. Her revelation had been uninvited but had come all the same and she had not been allowed to refuse.

It had been the most difficult to silence the echo's, to purge the visions that flooded her mind when he stood nearest, barely a breath away from her form. Perhaps she had initially dismissed what she had seen, stark imagines one after the next burning inside her own mind. She had needed something so desperately to crave, something to silence the constant barrage of numbers and letters running, racing against each other each moment of the day, shouting in voices no one else could hear. This Master had beguiled her from the moment she had first seen him and would have gladly given her life for his if only she had thought he had deserved it. For in the end she would find him to be nothing of the man she once thought him to be. This man was tortured beyond what even she could repair, what she could manipulate until all the parts worked properly again. There had been no hope for her love, she knew what he was, and would always be, even if given another choice. Some sins can never be forgiven, in time they fade and become little snapshots we file away, but they can never be forgiven. No one really can ever forgive you, only you can do that yourself but first you must have faith to ask to be forgiven and this creature of no god had none.

It had been a rather simple code really, nothing she was not able to plant deep inside her mind, turn it around and view it from angles the rest of the world could not see. How ironic it had seemed at the time that such a complicated man would wear such an uncomplicated suit of armour. She had solved his riddle using her own mad-ness as the very key to his own; she had essentially become his own Caesar's cipher. From there his sins poured, flowed like water crashing against her bare skin. Each sensual movement raged against her had brought an onslaught of deeds that should have never been spoken. In that one moment, in that pivotal shift of power she had not only become his confessor but his Devil's Advocate as well. Just to what extent could she forgive him, how many of his secrets would she silence for the world? Just how much would she allow herself to forget just to know she could feel his touch one more time?

To covet so completely, to find a silence for the world inside your own mind is a most hypnotic mistress. Knowing the slightest brush of his skin against your own would send the demons back into the Nod where they belong, to know his voice could banish the reeling cosmos of symbols and compulsory rituals. Having all this knowledge and still knowing he would have to fall and it could only be by your hand. Your same existence in the great fabric of time, your oddity that laughed in the very face of nature, would see in him what others never could. This Master of deception had fallen into the one place he could never escape, embedded deep in the darkest of places; a riddle inside his own well crafted code he was buried within her mind. His days had been _numbered_ from that day on; irony had indeed played the final hand.

Befitting the Master he was she calculated his final moment with the pomp and circumstance of a Conclave being called into session. In a way indeed the power he held was being passed from one master to the next; her actions were no less horrible than those of his own. In his defeat she would become what she could have never imagined herself to be, the slayer of her own salvation; it simply _would_ have to be a sin she could bear. Having the one thing he would never know, she would find her way back into the light; she had the _faith_ to see this through.

The time had come, all the clocks had stopped and his final day eventually fell like the sun setting over the moors. Nothing short of her own demise could have stopped her, not then, not when she was so close to ending his suffering, to finding his release and presenting him before the gods for judgment. Only they knew where he belonged, it had not been up to her to even speculate, her faith had only gone so far. Perhaps he had known why she sought him deep within his lair, buried beneath a castle fighting to stand against the bitter torrents of falling ice from the heavens. Her Master had not seemed shocked to see her there, standing in a doorway she was all to familiar with but he had immediately stood and met her where she paused. Nothing in his manner led her to believe he knew this would be his last night upon this world, nothing what so ever had seemed out of place in the least.

Tenderly he had leaned closer, tilting her chin to find his release, seeking absolution for all his deeds. In the softest of movements his lips touched against hers and he had known, the taste of clove unmistakable to a man such as him-self. There had been nothing associated with this little Gryffindor that he did not know, nothing in her make up that had not been already categorized and filed away for only his more carnal thoughts to enjoy. Licking his lips confirming what he knew to be true, the taste of almonds pushing its way past the pungent sent of clove. Slowly his eyes had traveled until meeting with hers, seeing in them the words she could not speak; his time had come and he had allowed this to happen, _mea culpa_.

Knowing in that instant what she had done, what sacrifice she had paid to see his reign of terror finally end, brought such elation as he had never known. Not only would she release his sins but pave his way into the very heavens as well; her life would be his final act of contrition, a gift given without ever being asked as payment for his sins. Together they would find immortality, and peace with in their own minds. Despite what he had done, she had damned her self as well and knowing he no longer would travel alone, he allowed his eyes to close and finally found the silence he had always sought.

_fin_


End file.
